II.
Not only was Jim ignorant that the old gentleman was being followed, but Mr. Vanderpoel did not know it himself. He walked out of the station with a firm, brisk step, his overcoat tightly buttoned over the place where he supposed his money to be, and congratulating himself that he had at length collected the debt which it represented.
It was not far to his house, which was in a side street, and occupied several lots of ground. A long path led up from the front gate, lined with shrubbery, and lighted only by the pale rays that gleamed from the front door. Alongside of the path stretched a little duck pond. It was a quiet, retired street, and when Mr. Vanderpoel turned into it, he left the crowd behind. He did not leave, however, the two men who had kept him in sight all the way from the station, and who now quickened their steps so that when he stopped at his gate they were not more than a few feet in the rear. Mr. Vanderpoel opened the gate, and went in. The gate swung back on its hinges, and was held open by one of the men, while the other entered. Not hearing the latch click, Mr. Vanderpoel turned around, and was met face to face by the intruder.
"Well, what do you want?" he demanded, angrily.
For an answer the old gentleman's arms were promptly seized and pinioned behind his back, and he himself was laid at full length along the garden path.
"Keep still now," hissed a rough voice. "We ain't no idea o' hurtin' ye, but what we want is them five thousand dollars."
It was not the slightest use to struggle. One man held him fast, while the other went through his pockets. Presently the first inquired of his partner,
"Where do you s'pose he's hid it?"
If it was the money they were speaking of, Mr. Vanderpoel knew perfectly well where he had hid it. It was, or ought to be, in the very pocket which the man was now searching—the breast pocket of his overcoat—and he waited breathlessly for the man's answer.
"Don't know," growled the thief, after a moment. "'Tain't here."
Mr. Vanderpoel almost jumped. If it were not there, where could it be? He had certainly put it in that pocket. He was glad, of course, that the thieves could not find it, but that did not relieve his mind as to its safety. However, if it had already been stolen, or if he had lost it, he could afford to lie still and enjoy what promised to be a humorous situation. Indeed, he felt almost inclined to laugh; and the robbers themselves, it seemed, began to realize that they were the victims of a sell.
"'Tain't on him nowhere," gruffly remarked the one who had been making the search.
"Feel in his breeches pocket," suggested the other.
The man transferred his hand from the coat to the trousers without success. "'Tain't there neither," he growled. "I don't believe he fetched it tonight."
"There's his shoes," observed the first man, who was evidently the more persevering of the two. "See if it ain't in them."
The other tore open the gaiters and dragged them off. The cold air struck Mr. Vanderpool's stocking feet very unpleasantly, and filled him with dismal visions of rheumatism and gout; but he bore it bravely, and by a tremendous effort stopped a threatening sneeze.
"I tell yer he ain't got it," declared the first man. "We're left; that's what it is. What'll we do with the old chap?"
His partner scowled. "Chuck him into the pond."
He chucked into a pond at his time of life, and with his rheumatism! It would be the death of him. The prospect of a ducking loosened his tongue.
"Help! murder! thieves!"
At this moment the gate clicked. Both men heard the sound, and started for the shrubbery at the side of the path. Almost before the old gentleman was aware that they had gone, their retreating footsteps were echoing down the street.
Mr. Vanderpoel felt that he was saved. He would have risen to his feet but for the fact that his shoes were off. The person who had come in the gate, and who was now standing before him, was a lad dressed, as it seemed to Mr. Vanderpoel's confused sight, in the District Telegraph uniform.
"Well, young man," he exclaimed, "I guess you've saved my life. Just help me on with my shoes, will you, and we'll go into the house."
It was some time before Jim could take in the situation, and he stood gazing at the old man without saying a word.
"What are you staring at?" cried Mr. Vanderpoel, hotly. "Do you suppose I'm sitting here in my stocking feet for amusement? I've been knocked down and robbed—or I would have been robbed if some one else hadn't done it already. If anything could reconcile one to the thought of being robbed by one set of thieves, it would be that they left nothing for the next set. But I certainly believe they would have killed me if you hadn't come up. Easy, now"—as the boy drew the gaiter over the old man's knobby foot—"look out for that corn. Now the other one. There! never mind the buttons. Lend me your arm, will you? I'm lame and bruised where I fell. It was lucky I didn't hit my head. Well, I'm sorry I lost the money, but I'm mighty glad those fellows didn't get it."
"Was it much?" asked the boy, briefly. They had now gone up the steps, and, while Mr. Vanderpoel drew out his latch-key, were standing in the light that gleamed through the door. As Mr. Vanderpoel turned around, he recognized, as he had not done before, the boy's features.
"HE HANDED OVER THE BOOK, WHICH MR. VANDERPOEL SEIZED."
"Hello!" he cried, "you're that train boy. Yes, it was a good deal. Do you know anything about it?"
Jim's face took on a non-committal look.
"Well," he said, "I found something in the cars. Perhaps you'd better identify it. Prove property, you know."
"Come in," said Mr. Vanderpoel, drawing Jim inside and closing the door. "Was it a pocket book you found?"
Jim nodded.
"With money in it?" eagerly.
Jim nodded again.
"Five thousand dollars?" Mr. Vanderpoel whispered.
"I didn't count it," said Jim, briefly. "There it is."
He handed over the book, which Mr. Vanderpoel seized and breathlessly opened. The money was in fifty dollar bills, and did not take long to count. When counted it proved to be all right.
"Yes," said Mr. Vanderpoel, delightedly. "It's all there. It must have dropped out of my pocket when I threw that paper at you in the car. Served me right for making such a lunatic of myself! But what a sell!" rubbing his hands gleefully. "What a tremendous sell on those villains that they didn't get a penny of it! Now come in to dinner"—leading the way through the hall—"and tell me all about yourself. You saved my life, and I'm going to do the correct thing."
And so the train-boy came into his fortune. In the end it amounted to a good deal more than $5000, for Mr. Vanderpoel's ideas of correctness turned out to be on a liberal scale. The family was brought to Trenton and put in a neat little cottage; Pete had all the tin soldiers that he could use, and Lizzie more dolls than she could possibly take care of; the mother got her dress, and Jim had his heart's desire, by being put, not in the company's machine-shop, but in a great deal better one, in which Mr. Vanderpoel was interested, and where Jim himself will no doubt one day be an owner. But better than all is the sense which Jim has of having fought against and overcome a great temptation. And this sense, I think, is the train-boy's fortune.
THE NOVICE.—From a Painting by M. Alexandre Robert.